You Can Imagine The Christmas Dinners
by Blackcurrant Bonbons
Summary: A Christmas fic where John secretly introduces Sherlock to Christmas.  Contains explicit sprouts,turkey and a big green tree so cover your children's eyes! Fluffy/Humor
1. Keep the Christmas Secret!

**Hello again guys! Seeing as it's coming up that festive time of the year again, I'd thought I'd write a fluffy/comedy fan fic for the lovely duo! No explicit slash here, sorry guys, but there is if you squint and look upside down! A few chapters on John introducing Sherlock to Christmas, that's all! Enjoy and Happy Christmas!**

You Can Imagine The Christmas Dinners'...

As John Watson entered 221b, arms laden with the inevitable Christmas shopping bags filled with cheap presents, he realised – for the first time – that the flat was unusually bare of the typical festive scene. Not a tree, present or bauble in sight. John wasn't exactly Ebenezer Scrooge, but he'd never really cared much for Christmas, it brought back particularly painful memories of his childhood; Mum reduced to the tears from Dad's angry sherry fuelled rants, Harry destroying one of his favourite presents in front of his face, and the falling tree crushing his escaped pet hamster. Christmas had never been a memorable time of year for John. How convenient then that he was now sharing a flat with Sherlock Holmes, a self declared sociopath who didn't give a damn about any self important religious festival, let alone Christmas, a time when even hardened criminals melted to reduced puddles of unbearable mushy softness. Sherlock despised Christmas. Normally John would have found this whole agreement very convenient, but as he had trudged passed the now fluorescent windows of the many houses in London and the happy families singing, eating and playing inside, and despite the happy facade many put on; he realise he was missing out on something. None of his Christmas's had been particularly pleasant, but maybe, just maybe, God had given him a second chance with Sherlock. A chance were he could have a normal Christmas, tree, board games, roast with all the trimmings... okay, maybe he was being too ambitious. Maybe he could have just one Christmas to remember, with Sherlock by his side. Just Sherlock, no one else. But how to convince Sherlock? Sherlock would never warm to the idea. Well maybe he didn't have to tell him? What if he could play a one sided game, with Sherlock as the helpless pawn? And despite his great intellect, Sherlock knew practically none of the Christmas traditions, which was even more so convenient; unless of course you counted the types of turkey, which Sherlock had had to memorise a few years ago for a case which had involved a large carving knife, sprouts, and a dead body. John never asked. As a draft whistled in throw the open door and an idea planted in his mind. He was sure he could make another trip to the supermarket... Sherlock wasn't vegetarian was he? No, of course not, what a stupid question. He paced over to the beaten wooden counter, dumped the bursting bags and turned around the way he had came, a sense of dignified purpose in his step. Sherlock walked past as he was passing through the doorway and asked, "John, where the hell are you going now?"

John smiled to himself. "Sherlock." He chuckled even to say his name out loud. "I'm making you dinner." As he walked further down the street, he heard Sherlock cry, "Dinner? You never make me dinner! That's what old couples do, isn't it?"


	2. Which Turkey?

**Hi guys! Sorry this took so long to update, I haven't had the energy this week! I am desperately trying to get this finished before Christmas, so expect some fast updating this week for once! **

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John stood undecidedly over the frozen meat section in the supermarket, his hand resting on the cold glass. He jumped half a foot in the air when he heard a familiar voice in his ear, spinning around.

"You'll want the basted turkey. My favourite."

"Shit, Sherlock!" John half yelled. A particularly evil glare from a little old lady shuffling past stopped him in his angry lecture. "Do not sneak up on me like that," he whispered angrily. Sherlock looked almost apologetic, puppy dog eyes melting John.

"Fine, fine, we'll get that one. Why are you here anyway?"

"I thought I might help you."

John gulped. There were banners and posters shouting out everywhere Christmas, Christmas, and Christmas. This might be harder than he thought. He'd have to keep him in his sight.

"Okay, okay. But I thought you hated supermarkets?"

"I do."

"Why the hell are you here then?"  
"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Fine. Come on then."

And so began their adventure around the supermarket. They received some rather rude remarks and looks, including 'faggots' and 'cock bandits.' Sherlock merely smiled evilly and continued walking like nothing had happened. John, however, was so close to punching every one of them. How dare they? He and Sherlock weren't even gay. Just friends. He did his best to ignore them and followed Sherlock's example. So far Sherlock had noticed nothing. Unusual for someone with a large intellect as his. John smiled inwardly to himself. This might actually work.

Everything was going great until they reached the check out. There was a particularly nosy looking lady working there, John knew here type. Ucch. He smiled nervously. Then the inevitable conversation started.

"Hello love."

"Hi."

"Wonderful weather today, isn't it?"

John looked outside. It was raining.

"You could say that."

"Have you brought your tree yet? Only a week till Christmas, isn't it now?"

John gave her evils. She stopped talking, giggling slightly to herself. Thank god Sherlock had been standing impatiently a few metres away, arms laden with bags, staring out the huge glass window, not looking in their direction. Not another word was spoken between the lady and John. They walked out of the supermarket, weighed down with sprouts, stuffing, carrots, potatoes, parsnips, and a rather large turkey. John thought optimistically to himself, I can cook this. Sure, he hadn't cooked proper food for about 4 years at least, but how hard could it be? Mrs. Hudson could probably lend him a hand. He looked at Sherlock.

"Thank you Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled and said, "Never again,"

"I was thinking exactly the same thing."

How exactly do you put the stuffing in the turkey? John thought to himself.


	3. The Sparkling Tree

**Hi guys! Well, with only 4 days till Christmas, I am desperately trying to finish this fic before the big day, which is looking increasingly unlikely now, but I still have hope! I've had to rush things along a bit in order to get everything I want in, but I hope you enjoy it! Please review, alert or add at the end, I will love you forever! XD**

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Sherlock practically sprinted towards the entrance of the supermarket, bursting bags bouncing up and down, and on more than one occasion almost spilling the already battered contents on the gleaming supermarket floor. Oh god, John thought. Sherlock really was like a misbehaving two year old sometimes, unruly and unbearable. Suddenly an idea popped into his head. John then began to precariously balance several of the heavy bags on one arm, and pulled out his ancient mobile from his jean's pocket. He was hardly an expert at texting with two hands, let alone one, but he made his best effort. He smiled to himself as he slipped the phone away again, re balancing the bags. Now all he needed was to distract Sherlock and waste some time. Sherlock had stopped just outside the entrance, not even shivering as the first flakes of London snow began to fall. As John departed the warm shop, his eyes became entranced for a moment with child like wonder at the first twirling flakes. He resisted the temptation to squeal and jump up and down. Sherlock was staring at him with a curious, intense gaze. John couldn't help but grin at him.

"Why are you so happy, John?" Sherlock asked with honest confusion.

John stared dumbfounded at Sherlock consternated expression. Well he was a self declared sociopath, he supposed. "Sherlock, it's snowing! That means we're going to have a white Chris..." he stopped himself in his tracks.

"A white what, John?" Sherlock questioned, still confused.

"Nothing, Sherlock, it doesn't matter." John began to trundle off back to 221b, Sherlock following. Thankfully, John didn't need to waste time as the streets were so congested in Central London and there were so few taxis out that Sherlock and John decided in unison that they were better off walking the journey home. It took them the best part of an hour and a half to finally reach the reassuring front door of their familiar home after coordinating the icy streets, John nearly slipping over several times had it not been for Sherlock constant reassuring hand on his arm, keeping him upright and balanced.

John and Sherlock stood outside the door, locked in a silent war as to who would open the door. John was shivering and his arms were beginning to ache from the constant weight hanging off them.

"Oh for god sake Sherlock, why the hell can't you open the bloody door?"

"Why can't you?"

"But why can't you?"  
"The question is John, why can't you?"

John knew from past experience that Sherlock was like a steel ball in their arguments. Unbreakable and capable of breaking. Oh for god sake. The things he did for this man. With lots of dramatic effect and several evil glares directed at Sherlock's smiling figure, he grudgingly opened the door.

"Why thank you John," Sherlock said smugly, smiling at him.

"No, no Sherlock, no need to thank me. Any time." John smiled back.

"Ladies first." Sherlock gestured to the stairs, eyes filled with sarcasm.

"No, men just before." John secretly loved their childish arguments, which not even 8 year olds would sink to. Sherlock strode up the stairs, but John trudged up slowly, smiling expectantly.

"John!"

"Yes Sherlock?" John smiled almost evilly.

"Why the hell is there a bloody sparkling tree by the TV?"


	4. Conspiracies

**Hi guys! I'm so excited! It's Christmas Eve! Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all of you and my lovely readers!**

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"Oh, that old thing. Surprised you didn't notice it before."

"John, of course I would have bloody noticed by now! It's a huge, prickly, bloody tree! And it's covered in glittery paraphernalia! With flashing bloody lights! And a fucking angel on the top! Give me some credit John, even you would have spotted that!"

"No, Sherlock, you don't understand, it's been here for months now."

"Why didn't you mention it then?"

"I thought with your amazing powers of observation you would have noticed by now, so I didn't see any point in pointing out the obvious."

"I don't believe you! Mrs. Hudson!"

John heard the wooden stairs creak as Mrs. Hudson climbed slowly upwards. After a long pause, she entered into the room, her usual "Sherlock, I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper!" retort sitting on her withered limps.

"Mrs. Hudson" Sherlock cried. "Thank god someone sane is in the room!" casting a purposeful glare at John, who was sitting nonchalantly in his favourite armchair. Sherlock then pointed, with almost childlike terror, at the menacing green tree towering in the corner.

"Oh that thing. Honestly Sherlock, you chase after serial killers, shoot at assassins and god knows what, and you're afraid of a harmless tree. Sometimes I wonder if you've ever grown up. I'm surprised you haven't got used to it by now, it's been here for months."

"What!" cried Sherlock. "Is everyone conspiring against me today? That bloody tree has not been here since tonight! I'm asking Lestrade." He pulled out his well worn blackberry from his back jean's pocket, finger flying across the keypad. After a few minutes of pressing the send button, Sherlock's face dropped. "I don't bloody believe it! " He began to read out Lestrade's succinct text.

'I don't bloody believe it Sherlock. The world's only consulting detective, and you didn't spot the bloody tree which has been in your flat for months. Have a happy bloody Xmas. '

John chuckled to himself. "Do you reckon Lestrade's had a bit much of the old bottle..." he was silenced by a fire freezing glare from Sherlock.

"Everyone is conspiring against me this evening! I bloody well know that tree hasn't been there." But now even a shadow of doubt had flickered across Sherlock's pale face. His face lit up. "I'm going to text Mycroft." John groaned inwardly. He hadn't thought to text Mycroft. Damn.

Sherlock groaned as he read aloud the new message from Mycroft.

'I can assure you Sherlock, that that tree has been there for approximately 4 months now. Don't worry, I'm sure you have faced far more formidable enemies. Regards, Mycroft.'

"Oh damn it to hell!" Sherlock cried in despair, chucking his phone at the battered sofa, where it landed with a soft plop. John grinned to himself. Thank god Mycroft had the CCTV and cameras for once, even though John hated them with a passion.

Sherlock's phone beeped again from its precarious perch on the cliff that was the edge of the sofa. Sherlock leapt forward like a panther, gripping his phone tightly. His face lit up as he read the incoming text. John knew that expression well after seeing it countless times in the past few months. Sherlock had a case.

"Oh how I do love a Christmas murder!" Sherlock almost squealed in delight. As John started to rise, Sherlock glared at him. "No, John I shall not be requiring your idiotic presence for this case. I shall be back in a few hours." John tried to put on his best disappointed face, but inside he was beaming. This was perfect. With Sherlock gone for a few hours, that left him plenty of time to cook the dinner, the grand finale of his Christmas franchise.

Sherlock darted out the room, slamming the door behind him, and it groaned in protest. John turned around to Mrs. Hudson, grinning.

"Would you like to start with sprouts or the carrots?"


	5. The Best Christmas Ever

**Hi guys! I feel really guilty for not updating on Xmas day, but I was ill in bed all day! (Worst day for me to be ill God *shakes fists*) This is the last chapter, and here comes the bombshell. I know many of you love the slash, and whilst there's so many hints and much more as we see in John's thoughts and perhaps a little one at the end, there is no 'action' in this story. One, it'a an Xmas fic, two, I really couldn't be bothered. Don't hate me! Ooo after this I am starting a Harry Potter fic (Hermione /Remus) so keep your eyes peeled if you're a fan! (Yes, that was just a shameless piece of self advertisement, but someone's got to do it!) Anyway Happy Christmas and have a Wonderful New Year to all! Please R&R!**

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John surveyed with satisfaction from the battered kitchen the twisting steam that was steadily rising from his magnificent – if he did say so himself- Christmas dinner that sat majestically on top of the creaking kitchen table, finally cleared of all Sherlock's experiments; although not into a bin bag, which had been Mrs. Hudson's suggestion.

He felt a small bead of perspiration trickle down his forehead as he basked in the formidable heat of the steaming oven. This is almost as bad as Afghanistan, he thought to himself. Hopefully it would be worth the effort. If Sherlock chose this night not to eat, by God he would throttle the man himself.

Mrs. Hudson had been in a flurry of activity, and due to John's sufficient lack of any cooking skills whatsoever; had practically cooked the meal herself. This is why he hadn't objected to the candles and the rose, he thought reassuringly to himself. He disliked those little romantic gestures. God, Sherlock was rubbing off on him. He found himself reflecting on their time as flatmates over the past few months. Probably the most eventful months of his life, if he looked back now. This would be there first Christmas together. Not _together_ together. They would never be like that, considering Sherlock whole 'I'm married to my work' state of mind. Hopefully there will be many more Christmases to come, his mind echoed.

"John!" Mrs. Hudson called his name. John snapped back. "You're looking a little flushed dear. Would you like to sit down? I'm sure I can manage from here." She gave him a patronising little usher towards a chair, but he didn't protest as he was practically prodded like cattle. He collapsed into a chair, smiling gratefully up at Mrs. Hudson's wrinkled face. He knew he hadn't gone red from just the heat. No, no, no. He was just about to eat dinner with Sherlock, candles, roses, all the trimmings; he was not going to let his life turn into a cheesy, romantic sit com. No way in hell. Suppress the urges John. As his thoughts began to wander guiltier paths, the familiar sound of the slamming door downstairs snapped him into action.

"Mrs. Hudson, he's arrived!"

"Yes, I know that dear, I'm not deaf you know, contrary to popular belief..."

John suppressed the urged to hide his head in his hands. Mrs. Hudson was a wonderful woman, and she'd been very helpful tonight, but boy could she talk when she wanted.

"Mrs. Hudson, would you like to stay?"

"Oh no, no dear, I wouldn't want to spoil you and Sherlock's fun..." she gave him a look. Oh god. And with that she tottered out the room, and narrowly avoided being run over by a rather smug looking Sherlock. Probably solved a case, John thought to himself.

As the door closed behind him, Sherlock looked at him. John felt himself go redder. This usually didn't happen.

"Don't suppose we have any of that stir fried rice left John..." the words left his lips as he observed the steaming feast in front of him. John couldn't hold back a smile. This was the first time he'd ever seen Sherlock look remotely surprised. He wasn't sure why though; the man had practically bought the ingredients.

"You actually cooked me dinner?"

All John could do was nod meekly.

"Nice touch with the candles, by the way," Sherlock grinned cheekily, winking at him.

John spluttered. "It wasn't exactly, my, er, idea." Sherlock as usual, had completely ignored John's failed attempt to explain, and had already sat down, eyeing the food hungrily.

John contentedly observed Sherlock's pale face over his full belly and the many now empty dishes that scattered the table separating the two. He sipped on his full glass of wine, a very good bottle of which had been opened sometime during the dinner, although John could not remember exactly when. Not a good sign.

"Y'know John," Sherlock slurred, slightly tipsy. "This is probably the best Christmas I've ever had."

John spluttered on his wine. "What! How did you find out?"

"Knew something was up. I bloody well knew that tree hasn't been here for 4 months. Showed a few pictures around, made a right idiot of myself. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective genius, wouldn't know Christmas if it hit him in the face." He managed to contain his little self pitying rant. "Thank you, John for all the wonderful effort you've put in, but next time, you can just tell me." John sighed. He'd got that off his chest. And it made next year so much easier. He smiled at Sherlock. He smiled back. "And after consulting Mycroft, I decided to get you a gift. I believe it is called a present. Customary gift exchanged between people at Christmas?" This had fallen on deaf ears. John had gone into shock. Sherlock, had got him, a present? Was that even possible? He only barely registered a soft bump as a rather heavy wrapped parcel landed on his lap. He looked down. Hallucinating, perhaps? Best wait and see. Cautiously, he gently ripped open the paper, and opened the box inside. Inside, was a beautiful, soft, cashmere coat, exactly like Sherlock's, except John knew it would fit him perfectly. He looked up at Sherlock, who was watching him worriedly, and he could feel the tears well in his eyes.

"Is it alright John? You like it, don't you? It's just to thank you for all of this..." but Sherlock was left speechless as John, after carefully laying the present on the chair, practically leapt across the room and pulled Sherlock into a strong embrace. Sherlock was clearly out of his comfort zone, but he let his arms loosen and patted John's back.

This definitely was the best Christmas ever, John thought.


End file.
